


Pick-Up lines

by spellwing777



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Dettlaff has the social graces of a block of wood, Geralt is king of sass, Geralt: the hoe in all but name, Humor then feels, and then they DIDNT fuck, but Geralt did fuck WITH him, meeting in a brothel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-18 17:22:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18254399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spellwing777/pseuds/spellwing777
Summary: This came completely out of the blue at 3 am last night to my brain, which was inordinately amused by Geralt flirting with Dettlaff using horrible pick-up lines.





	Pick-Up lines

Geralt was in a brothel, which while it wasn’t a _daily_ occurrence, it wasn't that unusual. He was here on business rather than pleasure though, at least this time. The madame here was happy that he was able to catch the katakan that had a taste for blood rather than sex, and he had to wonder what it was about fucking katakans that just couldn't be satisfied with one vice. They could take human form to go to a bar, so wasn't indulging themselves in regular alcohol like everyone else just not good enough?

 

Speaking of vices, there was a patron next to the wall that had been eyeing him since he walked in. Apparently, all the flesh on offer here wasn't of interest to him. With how well he was dressed for such a dive-a nice frock coat and even a gold pin in the shape of a moth on the chest-it really wasn't a surprise that he had more eclectic tastes than the run-of-the-mill prostitute. He matched gazes with the man, wondering if he’d actually approach.

 

Apparently, he was either bold or stupid, because he did. “How...how much would you charge?”

 

Huh, first time he’s been mistaken for a prostitute. He’s slept around enough to almost be one, but still. He’s in a good mood though so he might as well have fun with this.

 

“Depends on how many _monsters_ you want me to slay, big boy.” He says, doing his best to make it insinuating while keeping a straight face.

 

To his amusement, the other man looks absolutely baffled, and then angry. “I wanted to hire you as a _witcher,_ for...witcher-related things.”

 

Oh, so an actual _contract._ He could always use more work, but he can’t help himself. “Witchers are pretty _flexible_ , depending on the coin.”

 

The man glared at him. “You mock me?!”

 

“I never.”

 

The man practically hissed at him and stalked off. The girls around him wait until he’s gone, then break out into laughter. He turns to the madame who’s giggling like a little girl. “Oh goodness, that was great. He’s been hanging around for hours unable to make up his mind, brooding in a corner. I was about to kick him out, but that’ll work too.”

 

“Glad to be of service.” He says, greatly amused.

 

“Such sass,” She smacks his arm lightly, grinning. “You want to put that clever tongue to other uses?”

 

“Tempting, but no. I’m more in the mood for food and a bath.”

 

“Fair enough sweetie. I own the inn next door; I’ll give you a discount.”

 

* * *

 

Regis was slow to filter back to consciousness. It took him a moment to understand just what had woken him, but he can feel the presence of his blood-bonded caretaker for the last year. Once he got within a certain distance he can feel the moods of his friend Dettlaff through the bond and to say it was ‘stormy’ was an understatement. Well, he’d been hoping that sending the man to the brothel to get over his erstwhile mate would have helped, but to be honest he hadn’t really expected it to. Dettlaff was too emotionally invested in Rhena for a simple roll in the hay to help. If anything he seems more upset, and he winces.

 

“How did it...go?” Gods, he wished there was a better way to put it.

 

Dettlaff glared at him. “It was a terrible idea.”

 

“Well, I did say it _might_ help.”

 

“Didn't even get that far.” He muttered darkly. “Couldn't. Not...comfortable lying with a stranger.”

 

Regis inwardly sighed. Not that surprising really; Dettlaff was quite the sensitive soul and feelings took precedence over rationality, the near exact opposite of him. In a certain light it was charming, as he was capable of great empathy to the point he killed a fiend on the behalf of a child that he barely knew, and a human one at that. It was that same empathy that had led to him helping Regis-at no small expense-and then continued to nurse him to health even after he was able to at least function somewhat. Other vampires would only have considered doing that for close family and friends, not someone they’d know glancingly when they were adolescents.

 

It was sometimes a... _problem_ though, like now. His beloved Rhena had been ‘missing’ for eight years now, and the man was so deep in denial that he’d hit bottom and was starting to dig. It was a difficult topic to broach, but he had slowly started to drag him to the realization that his lady just might not be _able_ to be found. It would be an uphill battle to get him to understand that she’d left him instead of being taken, but baby steps. He’d hoped that maybe some pleasant female company might help him get over her, but alas, Dettlaff was not the type to have casual sex. He’d been desperate for some company to try, though surprisingly it’s anger that he can feel in the bond though. Not discomfort, not sadness nor frustration; _anger_. Something had happened to make him furious, which while it never took much to set him off he wasn't just prone to bouts of fury out of nowhere.

 

He debated how to ask him what had happened without incensing him further, and went for the surest way to help: a distraction. “Would you be a dear and assist me to my bench?”

 

Dettlaff nodded and came to help him. He enjoyed caring for Regis; it satisfied some kind of urge to tend to something. He’d even taken over the task of watering and weeding his friend’s herb garden, and he found it rewarding to see small, living things grow under his attentions. He was never very good at correct social interaction and it’s myriad nuances, so simple tasks with clear instructions and noticeable results soothed him. It was the same with tending to Regis because caring for him followed a similar list of instructions (feed with blood, give him water, and then wait) and the improvements were easy to keep track of. Regis, of course, had the added benefit of expressing his gratitude with fond praise, which makes him feel proud of his work, not something he felt often.

 

He’d also admit that he missed close contact, even if it was just platonic.

 

He carefully set Regis down-over his protests that he wasn’t made of glass, really-threw a blanket over him, and looked down at his workbench. Regis’ work fascinated him, the arcane blending of herbs and oils, tinctures and decoctions. It was a blend of science and intuition that he liked but could never do himself. He had no sense of intuition and preferred his drawings where he was just transferring what he saw to paper.

 

Regis started to mix a soother for sore throats, not minding that Dettlaff watched. Some people hated others looking over their shoulders, but this close he could feel his friend’s interest like a sort of running commentary, curiosity peaking when he tried something new or pulled out a herb he hadn't seen before. It was a pleasant background buzz in his head, and he was happy to natter on about properties to such an attentive audience. Right now though, he was more interested in having Dettlaff talk to _him_ instead of the other way around.

 

Once he’s sure his friend has calmed somewhat, he finally broaches the subject as he carefully feeds the mix into a vial. “You seemed upset when you came in. Anything specific? Other than, well, the obvious.”

 

He can _feel_ Dettlaff’s infamous temper flare and deftly interrupts it. “Could you hold this funnel? Ah, thank you.”

 

He’s found that the man has difficulty focusing on anger while doing something with his hands, and it works as well as it usually does. The heat backs off somewhat as he helps Regis with his work, enough that it’s easily distracted by the new smell of his latest concoction.

 

“...What is this?”

 

“Throat Coat. It’s a combination of coneflower and horehound.” He drips in the last of it. “For Nettie’s little girl. She has had a sore throat.”

 

The mention of the small girl that they’d both briefly met was enough to further dampen his rage. Dettlaff was fond of children, mainly as he found them easier to interact with than adults.

 

“So, my friend. Did something perturb you?”

 

Now his anger was down to a manageable annoyance. “...Someone.”

 

“One of the girls?”

 

No, they had made him uncomfortable in other ways. Mainly because being a healthy male that had needs and hadn’t seen them met in eight years had him looking at the girls entirely too much, and then feeling guilty about looking. There was still this part of him that wished to stay faithful to Rhena, though there was a steadily growing voice that said that there might be nothing to remain faithful too. You’d think eight years wasn't supposed to be a long time to a vampire but they measured time differently, and any amount of time spent fruitlessly searching for someone that couldn't be found made less than a decade feel like eons.

 

He shook his head. “No. A man.”

 

Regis blinked. Huh, he wouldn't have thought the golden hind had that...broad of a selection. Maybe he should make a visit sometime... “Do relax, my friend. I wouldn't fault you for giving that a try; variety is the spice of life as they say-”

 

It was exactly the wrong thing to say. Dettlaff snarled and pulled away, and he’s glad he’d gotten most of the mix in the jar as the funnel topples and splashes the tincture on the workbench.

 

“He was a _witcher_ Regis!” He spat, “Not a whore!”

 

Regis remembers the promiscuity of the only witcher he’s known and thinks there might be some overlap, but that was neither here nor there. “Apologies. I thought you might be going for some variety. Feel the need myself sometimes, honestly.”

 

Dettlaff is doing a full-body lean away from him, looking decidedly uncomfortable. “Not...haven't-”

 

“You really-ah, I keep forgetting you’re younger than me.”

 

Dettlaff tries to focus on anything, anything at all to get away from this mess of a conversation. “Not...not _that_ much younger than you.”

 

Regis grins, but he’s not about to be derailed. “So, what about this witcher upset you then?”

 

“He...I approached him with the intent of hiring him.”

 

“...uh, are you sure you would want to? I mean, a bit dangerous. Although I guess some people like a bit of an edge to things-”

 

“Be quiet Regis!” He all but screamed. “I just wanted to see if I could hire him to find Rhena! Witchers can track people! That is all!”

 

Oh, that _did_ make more sense. Hiring a witcher for finding his erstwhile lover, while disappointing that he still hasn't dropped that particular torch, did seem quite a bit more in character than Dettlaff of all people wanting to suddenly incorporate a bit of real danger into the bedroom. Penis-to-vaginal intercourse was probably as creative as the man ever got.

 

“My apologies,” He’s not really sure if this conversation is even salvageable, but he’s game to try, “I was simply trying to reassure you that expressing an interest in a male is nothing to be concerned about, but I suppose my assurances were...misplaced.”

 

He decided to change the subject before he dug himself any deeper. “But, the witcher. Did he express any interest?” Realizing how that sounded he quickly added, “In a contract?”

 

“No.” Dettlaff scowled, the anger returning. “He _mocked_ me.”

 

Regis gave him a nervous look. Oh god, Dettlaff was only just able to keep his claws sheathed in the best of circumstances, and getting poked fun at in a place where he’d already been uncomfortable was not one of them. “Did he now?” _Please tell me you didn't trash the place, I liked the golden hind!_

 

Dettlaff grimaced. “He...I saw him talking to the madame. I approached and inquired about his rates.” He paused. “...I did not phrase the request well.”

 

“...Oh dear.”

 

“He asked how many _monsters_ he was to slay, and said he was _flexible_ depending on the coin.”

 

Regis was biting the inside of his cheek so hard that it was bleeding, but he wasn't sure that was going to be enough to keep the laughter in. He quashed the amusement as best as he could to keep it leaking across the bond because Dettlaff would take it _very_ personally if he sensed it. The man just could not take a joke.

 

“And, hmm, after?” He was having difficulty speaking.

 

“I quickly left.” He gave Regis an annoyed look. “I didn't make a mess of the place if that is what you are concerned about.”

 

Then, with a slightly rueful expression “I am capable of controlling myself on...on occasion.”

 

Regis gave him an apologetic look. “Sorry my friend, I didn't mean to imply-”

 

“No need to _imply_ when it is simple fact.” He sighed. “I wish I had the control that you do.”

 

“Long practice, I admit, but you might have a hard time of it on account of your strong kinship with the lesser vampires.” He patted Dettlaff’s arm reassuringly. “You’ll get it eventually.”

 

Dettlaff had been trying for most of his life with limited success so he was not exactly optimistic, but he wasn't interested in that conversation right now. “You have had experience with witchers.”

 

He really has to put effort into not saying that he didn't have _that_ kind of experience, but managed to keep his damned mouth shut and nod instead.

 

“Do you think one of them could locate Rhena?”

 

 _This again._ He mentally sighs and forces himself to answer. “It’s...possible, though they really more specialize in finding and killing fiends and the like.”

 

“Your witcher tracked down his daughter.”

 

 _He’s not ‘my’ witcher,_ Regis thought, exasperated. _That rather dubious honor belongs to Yen, may she enjoy every drowner-blood stained, horribly-contrived-conspiracy, and stolen-moonshine moment of it._ “He did, yes. Though not every witcher is Geralt, my friend. He was exceptional for the breed.”

 

Dettlaff wasn't about to let this go. “But it might work. It’s worth a try, at least. I’ve had no luck on my own, perhaps-”

 

It’s probably best to head this off at the pass. “I don’t think that would be the best idea. Witchers may not be able to detect that you are a vampire off the bat, but I doubt you would be able to conceal yourself from them for long-”

 

Dettlaff hissed angrily, standing up abruptly. “Do not think to make excuses, Regis. I know why you object. You just want me to stop looking for her!”

 

Regis winced. He might have been honest about the earlier statement, but Dettlaff wasn't exactly that far off the mark. “Please, my friend, do try to understand that this...this obsession of searching needs to stop. Not because I _don’t_ want you to find her, but because tearing yourself apart trying is unhealthy-”

 

“She is my mate!” He roared. “You would not understand the need I have to find her, you’ve never had one!”

 

Regis was surprised at how much that actually hurt. From the look on Dettlaff’s face, so was he. Regis normally had better control of the bond and limiting just how much he let bleed over, but that had come completely out of the blue.

 

Dettlaff shrank back, horribly apologetic after feeling the short stab of pain from his friend. It was immediately reigned in with the usual easy self-control that he sometimes envied, but he still felt how much that had hurt. “I...I am sorry. I did not...sorry.”

 

Regis waved it away, but the smile was brittle. “Quite alright, my friend.”

 

“Have you...have you truly never had a mate? You never spoke of one, but I...you are older than me, surely you have had-”

 

“Oh, I have just never met the one yet.” He says lightly, trying not to be affected by the question. Tries not to be too bitter about how just impossible that would be when he had to sequester himself from his own kind at large because he didn't think the mortal races should be treated as food and to avoid becoming addicted to blood again. He’s also trying not to be affected by the pitying look Dettlaff is sending his way, and if he keeps that up he just might punch him. Romantic love wasn't all there was to life damnit, he had plenty of friends and...and…

 

He shook his head with a growl. “It is not all there is to life, you know. I have my friends, and the patients I care for, and that is enough.”

 

Dettlaff gave him a concerned look. “You do not actually believe this. You are saying that to convince yourself.”

 

 _Damn_ that man, and _damn_ this bond. “Fine! I’ve never had a mate, and I’m bitter about it. Are you quite happy about this conversation already, or do you want to make more painful observations and ask any more insensitive questions? _”_

 

Dettlaff looked like he wished to sink into the floor. “...No.”

 

There was an awkward silence for a few painful moments.

 

Regis drew his hands across his face, taking in a deep breath. Once he was calm, he spoke. “...I am sorry. I know she means much to you. I also know how much it pains you to keep looking for her without success. You will never heal if you do not find it in yourself to move on.”

 

“I cannot.” Dettlaff, a catch in his voice. “I _can’t._ I...I could, if only I knew what happened to her.  I am unable to even grieve her loss, because I have no way to know if she _is_ lost. Even if she were dead, it would be something. This not knowing, it...it keeps me unable to find peace.”

  


Regis regards him with a sad, understanding look. “I wish I could help you find the closure you so desperately need, my friend.”

 

“I _do_ need it, Regis. I...I believe you when you say I must move on, but I can’t until I find what became of her.”

 

Regis pinched the bridge of his nose, thinking hard. “...In my chest at the end of my bed, there is a money bag. I think there may be enough to hire a witcher there.”

 

Dettlaff’s eyes widened. “You...you will help me to find her?”

 

“It’s the least I can do my friend.” He said gently. “I am sorry I kept trying to push you to stop looking; perhaps that was a bit... _callous_ when I should have been a bit more supportive. And I am sorry I didn't realize just how badly you needed that resolution.”

 

Dettlaff looked down at his hands. “I have never been the best at expressing myself through words. You are the more...verbose of us.”

 

He chuckled. “To my detriment, sometimes.”


End file.
